Hollow Mausoleum
by Akai Kitsune
Summary: When the Bastion fell to the Heartless, most of the inhabitants fled. One man would have welcomed the darkness, but instead, his fate took him elsewhere. It is there that he is taught to remember, and in turn learns that control is not his alone.
1. Prologue: Prayer

Well, here it is... I honestly wasn't going to post this for a while, since I've been really busy and my muses are finicky as all hell, but I think sometimes you just have to let loose and give yourself a chance. And I hate seeing fics rot in my brain/harddrive when I could be posting them.

Companion piece to _Ephemeral Blossoms_ - timeline will definitely vary. And don't let the prologue fool you; it is Sephiroth-centric. I'll do my best to do him justice.

This is for Rem, who sparked an idle thought into a concept that begged to live. Thanks so much for your encouragement!

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Hollow Mausoleum

Akai Kitsune

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Prologue - Prayer

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She prayed in silence, her hands clasped before her as she knelt on the ground. There was no altar for her, no great church or temple in which to seek shelter. A cold wind blew, lifting her hair, causing a shiver to travel through her body, but she didn't move to warm herself.

A storm was coming.

Nearly there, she thought, distracted for scarcely a moment before returning to her silent pleas. Every second was precious, every word echoing in her mind had to be focused on what she knew was the crucial link needed to save this world. The others didn't know what she was doing, nor did she have time to tell them. Let them wonder, or let them learn if she succeeded.

She intended to stay behind, finish it if she could. She wouldn't tell them that.

The gentle thrum of the world beneath her, around her, murmured in her heart. It was suffering, weakening at each new conquest. Every Heartless that walked or ran or flew or crawled was a wound. They were all enemies.

_Be safe. Be strong. All is not lost so long as you do not give up..._

It was crying out for aid, in search of rest, the blades of resistance growing dull with each failure.

_Let me be your support. Let me guide your strength. Take up your sword and fight for what is yours._

_I will not falter..._

More cries, reverberating in her heart. There was so much pain, so little she could do. But she wouldn't stop, nor could she allow her world to fade. Not when it could save itself.

_To the gods, to the skies, to the very core of this world... -help us-..._

Something stirred. A surge of hope rushed through her body, but she did not cease; her chanting prayer continued on.

_Sea, to earth, to air... waterfalls, to the trees of the forest, to every creature, -help us-..._

Her hands trembled. She could feel the rising darkness, hear the startled shouting of those nearby. Airships roared to life.

Close. So close.

_From these mortal lands to the eternal heavens above... from our cold creations to the warmth of the Lifestream..._

_Holy... oh Guardian, -help us-..._

"Aerith!" Someone grabbed her arm, shaking her roughly, and she cried out, feeling it fade, the answer slipping from her fingers. She turned desperate eyes upwards, but the man hook his head. "C'mon, we've gotta go. We can't wait for them anymore."

"I... I know," she murmured distantly. She already knew he was gone, though not where or how far. There was nothing she could do for him.

"One minute," she pleaded, and without waiting for an answer she tugged her arm free. Reaching up to her hair, she pulled loose a simple white bauble, wrapped up in a pink ribbon. Ignoring the questioning gaze of the gruff pilot behind her, she gently laid it on the ground, uttering a final prayer as her fingertips left the pale orb. She then withdrew an envelope from her pocket, and out of it she pulled three flowers, half-dried and crinkling. She plucked a single petal from each one, placing them around her hair ornament reverently as if they were artifacts of great worth and power.

They could be, she thought absently. Who was she to say? She followed her heart without question.

Flowers in hand, she stood, taking a few steps forward to the edge of the shipyard, overlooking the vast city, watching shadows grow everywhere she looked.

_Help us._

She lifted her arm, releasing the flowers, letting them drift on the wind, spinning and twisting together as they drifted towards the world beneath them.

Lily, rose, buttercup. Her artifacts of hope.

_Help us. Help us stop the darkest heart of them all._

"Aerith!" the man called again, his voice urgent. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned away from the falling blossoms, facing her friend.

"I'm ready," she whispered, a gentle lie she didn't want to give but couldn't help saying it, either. She let him grasp her hand and pull her along behind him, and they rushed back the ship, leaving behind a prayer as the only defense for a broken world.

And as the ships lifted off the ground and faded from view, slowly, faintly, the white Materia began to glow.

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AN: Forgive any vagueness; all shall be explained, I swear!

More coming soon, though the first chapter will either be very short or very long, depending on how I decide to go about doing it. We'll have to see.

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 1: Triad

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts ain't mine. Weep with me.

And yes, I know I'm late. It's been a while, ne? My apologies for the delay as well as the shortness of this chapter - in truth it's much like a second prologue rather than a chapter. The next parts should be much longer, but I had to reach a certain point with this one.

Anyway, enough excuses! Onwards!

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Hollow Mausoleum

Akai Kitsune

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Chapter 1: Triad

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The first thing that he noticed about the room was how empty it was.

It was an odd structure, for certain, whatever it was; three walls, not four, smooth and bare of any and all decorations. In the center of the room was a plain pedestal table, with an accompanying chair, no more descript or special in any way. Both were white, cheaply painted, but of solid design as far as he could tell.

The second thing he noticed was the colours, or lack thereof. The entire room was pitch black, shadows lingering everywhere, yet he could see every detail as if it were plain as day. There were three pillars, one in each corner, pale, pale white, carved pearl in a sea of ebony. From the middle of the room, as he turned, he could see each one had a section carved out of it, white light streaked with green flowing placidly through its core.

_Lifestream_, he realized, masking his surprise with practiced ease. Yet the reason behind its appearance in this place eluded him, as well as the reason _he _was there.

In the center of the stream were three flowers, a different speciesin every pillar, the only colours to be seen aside from the faint flickers of emerald within the flowing energy.

The first one he focused on was the smallest; a shrouded green center with five perfect yellow petals surrounding it, its stalk long and slender. The blossom stood bold and proud despite his scrutiny, facing him with defiance, if a flower could feel such righteous emotion. He moved on, ignoring the odd twinge of nostalgia in what was left of his heart.

The second flower was white, petal larges and widespread. Its head was bowed low as if defeated, yet tiny offshoots in the center - yellow, curiously - faced upwards in contrast, as if to urge the flower into finding its courage. Weak, he thought coldly, and dismissed it.

The third, a rose. Red in colour, the only one so distinct he knew it by name. This one stood tall and proud; it did not waver, though the thorns were completely stripped away. Despite his angered gaze it refused to even flinch, nor did it drop its head to return the look. It faced the heavens, following the path of the Lifestream flowing through it.

"Where am I?" he demanded, the words spoken aloud since his arrival. His query echoed through the walls, but no answer came.

Angry, he asked again, stalking around the room, ignoring the chair and trailing his fingers along the boundaries, slamming his fist against them now and then to test its strength against his. Still nothing. Though his anger rose with every passing moment of silence, something about the flowers repulsed him, kept him from touching anything but the dark walls.

He circled the room several times before raising a furious voice to the dark sky - ceiling, he couldn't quite tell - above him one final time, then reluctantly going back to the table and chair. Perhaps this would take more thought and consideration than he'd originally imagined. He sat down, both arms resting on the table, eyes narrowed in concentration.

He planned.

He waited.

No answer came to him, save for the stillness of his empty prison.

---

When he grew tired of waiting, tired of the silence that offered no relief to his frustration, he rose to his feet once more. Stealing himself against the feeling of repulsion which kept him from moving too close to the flowers, he sought them out, studying them with greater focus. It was clear that they were the supports that kept him contained, the literal pillars of his prison. As a military general and a tactical genius - facts were facts, after all, humbleness be damned - this made little sense to him. It was pure idiocy to reveal your weaknesses to your enemy. You did not imprison someone and hand them the key.

_They assume too much if they believe whatever spell they have cast will keep me back_, he told himself, wondering idly who 'they' were. _They are fools to do so._

Vowing to prove them wrong, he approached the first flower. It was the logical choice; never seek out the weakest or the strongest enemy when you know neither. The former shows a lack of confidence, the latter, a lack of caution. The yellow flower, while small, was defiant and bold to a fault. To crush it was to test its strength and prove his own.

As he approached it, the feeling of repulsion once again twisted in his gut, but he shoved it aside, letting it feed his determination. He was too proud to allow a simple flower to chase him off. Within three strides he was before it, glaring down as the flower challenged him in return. It seemed as if the blossom had actually lifted to look back at him...

_... idiocy, indeed._

Refusing to be deterred _or _disturbed by the thought, he reached into the pillar, ignoring the faint burning sensation of the Lifestream's touch, and closed his fist around the flower within, intent on crushing it.

The world was suddenly awash with white light, and when he closed his eyes, it followed him into oblivion.

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Sorry again about the length. That's all I'm going to say about it. I'm hoping to get the next chapter out ASAP, so keep an eye out!

Also, due to the Japanese release of KH2 and the fact that I've finished it, the plotbunnies have attacked me and have changed the progress of this fic (and possibly beyond). I won't be placing anything that would spoil the game in this fic until it's officially released, so no worries there. Just thought I'd warn you in case some things get a little confusing. But all will be explained, I promise!

Till next time. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 2: Comrades

This chapter title is mostly to make Rem-chan squirm. Heh heh heh. 

Kinda sporadic - more of a collection of events rather than a chapter. Next one should be more sequencial. Key word being "should".

Once again, "Faolan" was inspired by Madam Hydra's use of "Faelan" and I don't claim credit for thinking it up. I just can't see him with any other last name now...

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Hollow Mausoleum

Akai Kitsune

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Chapter 2: Comrades

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The most distinct thing about Wutai was that it was wet. Very wet.

Holding back a groan of disgust at the sight of the pouring rain just outside the flap of his tent, Sephiroth returned to his work. President Shinra wanted a report, as always, and it was a challenge to find the right words to tell the obnoxious little man that he had very little progress of which to speak. The rainy season was slowing everything down - between the cold, the mud, and the growing number of illnesses, Midgar's troops were demoralized and right where Godo wanted them.

Things would change. There was no chance Wutai could win this war if the soldiers of Midgar played their cards right, and if the terrain gave them more ground to work with. But things were looking as if it would be long and bloody.

Shinra did not seem to understand this.

He was partway through the first paragraph - he'd had to move his desk twice, the rain seeping through part of his roof dripping down on the fresh ink - when he caught the sound of footsteps, and a figure shuffled in to stand at the entrance, clad in muddy fatigues and a dripping raincoat, waiting.

"Don't just stand there like a wet dog," Sephiroth growled faintly, beckoning with a hand. Despite the interruption, he was grateful to escape the report, however briefly. "Come in and tell me what you want."

The figure hesitated, but it was quick, and in a moment he'd pulled back his hood and saluted smartly. "Private Faolan reporting for duty, sir," he managed, apparently trying not to sound nervous. He wasn't very good at it.

Sephiroth took a moment to study the boy. A new recruit, obviously, but surprisingly it was a SOLDIER trainee who stood before him. He'd thought SOLDIERs were still in training for another three months, and said as much.

Faolan shuffled his feet. "Head office thought you needed more troops, sir. They chose fifteen of the top applicants and sent us out for field training."

_Idiots_, Sephiroth thought with a scowl. _Condemned them to die right out of training, is more likely._ Aloud, he said, "And you were assigned here."

"Yes sir. Me and four others. The rest are in different camps. I was sent here to you to deliver our files."

"Hn... give them here." Hastily the boy revealed a file folder from beneath the raincoat, only slightly soggy from the damp climate. Sephiroth took it and flipped through, eyes skimming quickly over the top report. "Your instructors seem to think highly of you."

"Yes sir," Faolan nearly stammered, his eyes glued to the general. "I've worked real hard, and I don't plan to stop."

Raising his eyes, Sephiroth glanced at him again, taking in his young face and the open expression he found there. He would be one ungainly spy if he'd chosen the Turks, he mused, resting his gaze on the SOLDIER's eyes, glowing golden with newly fused mako. With his slim figure and somewhat gangly form, he did look like he would make a proficient swordsman, which was satisfactory, at least.

"This isn't a pretty war, private."

Faolan's eyes widened a little. "Of course not, sir. I can't think why it would-"

"Plenty of young soldiers come here looking for fame and glory," Sephiroth continued blithely, his eyes focused and deadly serious. "If you're blind enough to think you can walk away unscathed, you don't belong here."

Faolan paused. Swallowed. Then said, quietly, "I'd be satisfied with getting back alive, sir."

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, but the SOLDIER's expression didn't change. He couldn't tell if the boy was being impertinent, humourous, or completely honest. _This is hardly a time for making hasty judgments. We'll see what he's worth when the battles start._

"Make sure you don't die, then," he murmured, snapping closed the file. Faolan blinked. "I'm busy at the moment, so I will review your files later. SOLDIER barracks are half a mile west of here. Find yourself a bunk and get settled. Dismissed."

"Sir!" Faolan saluted again and turned on his heel, disappearing from the tent and heading back into the rain. Sephiroth watched him for a mere second or two before returning to the more important assignments at hand, the encounter fading from his thoughts.

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_Why is this relevant? Why show me this?_

_I sought freedom, not another prison. Reviewing the past is meaningless._

_-Release me-!_

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"Y'know, there is such a thing as working _too _hard."

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the man seated backwards in his chair, arms lounging casually on the support. "As opposed to those who hardly work at all?"

Zack grinned, an innocent look crossing his expression. "Oh, you can't possibly mean me. I've worked damn hard this past year... years... how long have we been here again?"

Sephiroth resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Most days he couldn't tell if Zack was careless by nature or on purpose simply to drive him mad. "Twenty-eight months, seven days. Pay attention to the calendar once in a while, Faolan."

Another shrug. "Why bother with the extra paperwork when I have you?"

I_ will not sigh. I will not get exasperated. You cannot make me join you in your indignity. _"... It would be... more professional."

"Professionalism is your job, not mine," Zack tossed back, leaning his chin on crossed arms. "I'm just here to keep the troops happy and watch over your ass for the high-rankers."

The grin shifted to look more cheeky than anything. Sephiroth couldn't help but recall the skittish child who had entered his tent two years ago, rambling on about survival and doing his best to serve in a war he knew practically nothing about. Now, dealing with the elder teenager who had developed a free-reigning mouth and a rank to back it up with all but himself, the SOLDIER general couldn't help but sometimes wish that Zack had retained a little more... discretion.

"And you have my undying gratitude for that," he finally replied dryly, eyes shifting back to the pages on his desk. "Leaving me to face the terrifying drama of red tape-"

"While I get to play with ninjas!" Zack finished, sounding entirely too cheerful. Sephiroth was sorely tempted to throw something at his head, but nothing short of the desk he was working on would cause enough of a dent and he didn't feel like disrupting his work even more.

He settled for a faint snort, shaking his head and turning back to his work. Zack didn't speak again, and he didn't move until an alarm sounded, shouts of warning traveling through the campground; an attack, and the third one tonight. He was about to rise when his subordinate beat him to it, waving a hand in dismissal, his expression a mask of calm - a stark contrast to the boyish smirks he had worn only moments before. "Don't bother getting up. The boys and I can handle this one."

Sephiroth shot him a look. "You may need my assistance."

Zack's brow lifted, the faintest trace of a smile returning to his lips; out of battle, it was rarely gone from his expression, a discovery that had come to Sephiroth all too quickly when he'd recommended the young man for First Class. "Against a nighttime scuffle? We won't even break a sweat. These attacks are to disrupt our calm, not wipe us out, right? The worst thing we can do is let them bother you." He lifted a finger, waggling it as if scolding a small child, and yes, that damn grin was back in full force as he slung his broadsword over his back. "After all, those are some damn scary reports you've got waiting for you."

"..." If Zack had perfected his smile over the years they'd known each other, Sephiroth had become _very _good at glaring, which is just what he did then, trying to imagine what sort of pleasantly concussion-inducing injuries his desk would cause as Zack disappeared from the tent and into the battle awaiting him.

He wasn't even halfway through the second report when Zack returned, bloody (not his), wet (raining, again), and smiling, always smiling (the world hadn't ended yet) as he reported that the assault had been taken care of, and the watch had switched again. Three injuries, no fatalities. No one had even asked about him.

Musingly, Sephiroth wondered if that was comforting or not. But only for a moment; reports could only be delayed so long, and Zack was, mercifully, going to bed.

One could never forget this was a war of small victories.

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_I remember that._

_I remember it well._

_Pointless memories... we were both fools._

Something - someone? - smiled at him. Sparked to life an emotion deep within his mind; faint, weak as a dying flame in a rainstorm.

_"Fools to believe in victory?_

_Or each other?"_

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words were torn from him, the familiar feeling vanishing amidst new light.

---

If there was one thing he was grateful for, it was Wutai's climate, for being warm enough to give them rain instead of snow during the winter season.

Zack disagreed with him; in his mind, frostbite was easier to deal with than gangrene, waterborne diseases, and fevers. But most of Zack's way of thinking involved how the troops dealt with the situations, rather than he himself did - that was just his way. It wasn't something Sephiroth understood easily, but as long as the troops were happy and Zack didn't try to lecture him to do the same, it didn't bother him overmuch. He was content to fight and lead and do whatever else necessary to win. Let Zack baby-sit the soldiers.

Though in truth, he never really _babied _them; Zack was a SOLDIER through and through, and he knew that they weren't in the army to be coddled. A casual smile here or there, a wave when all was calm, a word of confidence when all was chaos. Even Sephiroth couldn't deny the truth in Zack's claim that small things like that could go far in raising morale and, in turn, performance. And he never expected Sephiroth himself to do more than nod in approval if a soldier merited his acknowledgement.

Which wasn't often with this bunch, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and he was neither. He worked with the materials that were available; he was the general _because _he had that ability, rather than pleading with his employers to send more funds, supplies, or soldiers. Anything was better than nothing.

But often enough he thanked whatever deities _might _have existed that there were a few reasonably intelligent men within his circle of command, and that Zack was one of them. Even if the man could be insanely irritable at the most inconvenient of times.

Never inconvenient altogether, however. He couldn't quite imagine going back to the days without that bright shadow by his side.

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In the quiet of the battlefield after the enemy troops had retreated, Sephiroth liked to take a moment to calm himself, step down from the plateau of near-senseless destruction and find his center before the chaos of post-battle began - when the cries for medical assistance rose in volume, when the officers under his command called for orders, when he had to go back to being the leading figure of sanity for the rest of the troops.

Today would have been no different had he not had over 200 pounds of deadweight to carry back with him, most of that being the giant sword the man usually carried.

Somehow able to sense his irritation, the figure stirred, head lifting just a little, smiling apologetically. "Sorry about this," he mumbled. "I meant to defend."

"Of course you did," Sephiroth replied curtly, shifting his grip on the arm slung over his shoulder.

Zack closed his eyes, though briefly; they were glazed with pain and he wasn't bothering to hide it much. "Aw, come on. Are you mad at me for getting hit?"

The SOLDIER general didn't answer that, specifically. A pair of medics approached them and tentatively offered to take Zack from him, but one sharp look made them step aside.

"I could've dodged it," Sephiroth finally said quietly, gazing ahead, focusing on their destination. He ignored the other soldiers around them as easily as bugs waved aside with an idle hand.

Zack laughed, though it sounded somewhat forced; Sephiroth decided, quite firmly, that it was bloodloss and exhaustion, not any kind of indication of how the younger man was feeling. "But you didn't," he mused, head hunched, allowing the general to lead him into the camp.

Sephiroth mulled over his comment for a while, eyes narrowing a little. "_You _could've dodged it," he finally added. Nothing more.

There was a silence, even Zack's heavy breath going quiet, barely a rasp, so much that Sephiroth wondered if he had died. Hadn't known what to think of that, aside from the absurdity of even the _thought _of Zack dying.

Eventually, Zack merely repeated, barely audible, "But I didn't."

Nothing more.

Sephiroth didn't mind; he fell silent as well, carrying Zack into the camp and back to his tent, getting him settled before letting the medics tend to him.

----

_... Stop this._

_"Hey, don't look at me. I'm just an observer."_

_Who -are- you?_

A smile._ "Wouldn't you like to know?"_

_... Do -not- toy with me. I will not be baited._

_"Aww, you're no fun. Alright, fine. I'll stop talking. But I ain't going anywhere, so just holler if you want some company. ... Except you'd need my name for that one, wouldn't you?"_

_"Guess not. Catch ya later!"_

_"... No goodbye?"_

_... -Get. Out.-_

_"Gone!"_

Silence. He had scarcely a second to be grateful for small miracles when the light flashed again, scorching his eyes, searing them with another flurry of memories he could not avoid.

And it occurred to him that perhaps the voice should not have been dismissed so quickly...

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AN: This was going to be longer. Then I decided it had been delayed long enough, so it's part 1. Eh-heh.

Who is the mysterious voice? We-ell. :3 we'll see.

Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 3: The Voices Say Hello

I'm back again! Here's hoping I can keep this one a little more sequential. I suppose we'll have to wait and see. 

The chapter title is from Matthew Good Band's "A Boy And His Machine Gun". Check out the lyrics. It fits certain things quite nicely.

BTW, I've started using Hollow Bastion's true name. Those of you who haven't played through KH2, you might want to look out for that. One of these days I'll go back and change Blossoms to be more canon, but meh. Later.

I should also note that this fic (though mostly this chapter) is going to contain significant KH2 spoilers. Not for the full ending itself, but certain secrets about Organization XIII will be showing up, particularly the superior. Just as a warning.

A final note: Certain things are going to vary from how it was written in Blossoms. It annoys me, but for the most part it's only a few little shifts. I really will need to go back and revise. Grr upon KH2 for giving me new ideas and messing with my head.

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Hollow Mausoleum

Akai Kitsune

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Chapter 3: The Voices Say Hello

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He usually disregarded Hojo's messages with the slightest of efforts. Despite the man's... _connection _to him (what word could one give to one's sperm donor, who supplied little more than the barest of life's necessities?), Sephiroth would have preferred the man had nothing to do with him. Of course, when Hojo was concerned, his preference had little relevance.

Lately, however, the scientist had been bothering him more than usual. Deleted messages had been re-sent, memos brought by the intern with the shaky hands, and he had even tried to accost Zack about his whereabouts in the hallway on one occasion. 'Tried' being the key word, since the conversation had quickly been altered to the dark-haired SOLDIER's rather colourful experience with a woman the night before, and Hojo had been forced to give up. Sephiroth could remember being thoroughly amused by the story later on; there were few people who could make Hojo leave so unsatisfied.

Even he had limits, however; when Hojo finally caught up to him, visibly annoyed at being avoided so many times, he finally relented and asked what, exactly, the man was so insistent upon telling him about.

Hojo had smiled sweetly enough to make a Malboro's skin crawl.

Within the week he was on his way to Radiant Garden, where a half-functional reactor and, if the scientist's words were correct, evidence of his mother would be found.

His mother. He knew nothing about her but her name.

_"Some very curious books about Jenova have been found in the library of the capital. I thought you might be interested..."_

What Hojo could gain by giving him this information, he wasn't sure, but he intended to find out. Though discovering the truth about his heritage was incentive enough - one would never wish to be only associated with someone like _Hojo_.

He hadn't known what to expect.

He certainly hadn't expected what he'd found.

---

How long?

How long had he pondered the name Jenova, wondered desperately who she was, what she was like, resisting the urge to ask Hojo for the sake of his own pride?

Years of silence and solitude, all gone in the face of the words he read in that vast library.

Jenova.

Calamity from the Skies.

The alien who descended upon the planet thousands of years ago, intending to destroy the inhabitants and use it as a vessel to travel to other worlds.

To find the Promised Land.

She wasn't human, wasn't some weak woman Hojo chose and decided she was fit to carry a warrior such as he. She was immortal - and so, in a way, was he.

No. Not merely an immortal.

A _god_.

He was halfway through the third volume that contained information about Jenova when the door to the library opened, and someone stepped inside. Sephiroth turned, eyes narrowed slightly, watching a youngish looking man in a white labcoat stop briefly in surprise at the sight of him, then continue forward.

"Excuse me," the man spoke briskly, pale bangs shifting back and forth across his eyes, "Can I help you? A great deal of this library is difficult to navigate."

Sephiroth studied him for a moment, then dismissed him as any kind of threat and turned away, eyes shifting back to the book. "I would rather not be disturbed."

"... General Sephiroth, I presume."

He didn't even look up again. It was no surprise that he was known, even here.

"Professor Hojo was unclear as to when you were coming-" The man smiled slightly as Sephiroth turned to look at him a second time. "Had I known, I would have been here awaiting your arrival."

"... You're working with him, then?" Sephiroth asked, his tone unreadable.

The young man's shoulders gave the slightest of shrugs. "In a way. We share much the same goal, at times."

Sephiroth had already turned away. "I don't want you in my way. Get out."

"On the contrary, I'm here to assist you." The man's smile broadened the faintest bit. "You're searching for information on Jenova, correct?" The response he received was little more than a sharp look. "Hojo sent you here with the intention that you would find me. I can show you what you want to see."

"Jenova?" Sephiroth echoed, eyes narrowing again. "You know where she is."

The man lifted his brows, then moved towards the door. "Follow me, if you will."

Glancing at the book he held once more, Sephiroth calmly replaced it in its shelf and silently walked after him. He didn't like following blindly, but answers offered freely - especially from scientists - were few and far between, and so there was little hesitation involved in his decision.

Didn't stop him from watching the man like a hawk, but that was ingrained in his very soul, training not so easily thrown aside.

After a lengthy pathway through something of a labyrinth beneath the castle - obviously a route his guide had taken many times before, if his unfaltering movement was any indication - they arrived at a door at the end of a corridor, which led to a small, circular study, books piled messily on the desk and bookcases, notes scribbled on nearly every spot of a chalkboard at the far side. There was writing even on the wall, nonsense scattered here and there, diagrams and words that he understood only vaguely or not at all.

"What is this place?" he questioned, turning narrowed eyes to the one who had brought him here.

The man smiled faintly, shaking his head. "This is my master's study. He's been examining the powers inherent in people's hearts - fascinating work, though he is reluctant to continue. I have his utmost trust, however, so I am permitted to come here and conduct my own experiments when he's busy."

Sephiroth withheld a grimace of disgust at his words. _Scientists_. "And who are you?"

The stranger gave a slight bow of his head, golden eyes gleaming oddly in the light. "You may call me Xehanort."

---

He was given free reign of the study for the day. Much of the information still meant nothing to him - Jenova wasn't mentioned, and so he paid little attention - but as he was reading, scanning through pages and pages of failed experiments and tangenting theories about hearts and bodies and the connections between, something whispered to him. Softly at first, then gradually louder, until he could scarcely hear his own thoughts through the urging. It irritated him at first, then soothed, the words guiding, helpful, showing him the way towards understanding.

_"Why do you think these words are unimportant?"_

_They are not relevant to me._

_"Ah, but they are. Consider: what is a heart?"_

_It doesn't matter._

_"I ask again: -What is a heart-?"_

_... The essence of power within a human soul._

_"Try again."_

_... The opposite of a human's physical form, the source of emotion, drive, and strength._

_"A little simpler."_

_... A body's other half._

_"... -There-."_

_Who are you?_

A smile._ "Think of me as -your- other, perhaps."_

And in that moment, he understood.

_... You are..._

_"You have done well, my son. Now..."_

He stood up, discarding the folder he had been reading, stepping forward and studying the wall of diagrams, trailing his fingers along the words. He continued on, circling the room, stepping around the obstacles, touching nothing else. The voice within was leading him - _Mother _was leading him - and he would follow.

_"Touch the wall."_

His hand touched a panel, light flaring beneath his palm. A wall opened, a dull grey corridor hidden beyond.

_"Shall we see what is there, my son?"_

"We shall," he murmured, and stepped forward into the laboratory.

---

When Xehanort returned a few hours later, he found Sephiroth in the room beyond the computer terminal, studying the vast layout still being constructed - a machine far beneath the castle, half-alive, waiting to be completed. Made for a very important purpose, one that would be determined in due time.

He didn't ask how the general had gotten in. Didn't get the chance, really - as he approached, Sephiroth flicked something over his shoulder, and Xehanort reached out to catch it, hand lowering to glance at the object. A data disc.

"Copy everything," Sephiroth turned his head back to look at him, eyes narrowed, daring him to refuse. "All of it, all your reports, all your findings. Leave nothing out. I'm taking it with me."

Xehanort didn't refuse. He smiled again, gave that tiny bow, and turned away. "As you wish."

"Not yet." The scientist halted at his voice, glancing back. Sephiroth's eyes gleamed. "Where is Jenova?"

"Ah, so that's what you're after." Xehanort's expression told him the man had known all along. "It's no surprise he didn't tell you - he wants your cooperation more than anything."

The SOLDIER general gave him a look that demanded only the truth, else his sword coax the words from him. "Cooperation with _what_?"

"The experiments, of course." Xehanort lifted the disc. "Your input would be more than useful - your connection with Jenova and the darkness of the world is crucial to our success. I believe you could be the key to learning how to awaken the darkness in one's heart."

"And how would keeping Mother's location from me convince me to cooperate?" Sephiroth asked dryly.

Xehanort smiled again. "To make you ask him, of course."

Sephiroth, predictably, didn't return it. He strode forward a few steps, studying the construction of the machine beyond him.

"Where is Jenova?" he repeated, his voice calm.

Xehanort didn't speak for a moment, slipping the disc into his labcoat pocket. "May I request something in return?"

The other man's slitted eyes shifted back. "That depends on your answer."

Sighing faintly, Xehanort walked up to stand beside him. "Nothing of great value to you, most likely. We require a suitable specimen - Hojo has had a great deal of trouble finding stable humans capable of withstanding a great deal of Mako, someone with a body fit for cultivating the darkness of the heart. Recommendations would be useful." His lips curled into a darker smile. "Cooperation is not an issue, but he can't be a SOLDIER. Hojo has few men under his command, and none of them could overpower a Mako enhanced being."

_"He's talented. There's potential for a lot of improvement..."_

_"Hey, you know that kid I was telling you about? He's really SOLDIER material. He reminds me of you sometimes."_

Sephiroth was silent for a while, thinking intently about his options. To offer a name now would betray a trust - but when the stakes were considered...

_"What is one human boy when compared to me, my son? He'll get what he always wanted, the chance to work alongside one as great as you..."_

_... And Zack?_

_"He will find his place with you. He always has."_

His eyes narrowed. If the boy disappeared, Zack would follow him. He knew it as well as he knew himself.

"Strife," he finally offered, his voice level. "Cloud Strife."

Xehanort glanced at him, committing the name to memory, then turned away, murmuring as he did so, "Nibelheim."

Sephiroth didn't return the look, knowing what he meant, waiting in silence until the scientist had disappeared into the other room. When all was quiet, he once again opened his heart to that secret voice, shadows glittering at the very core of him.

A hand stroked at the back of his mind, gentle, inviting. _"Are you coming to see me, my son?"_

"Soon, Mother," he whispered. "Very soon."

---

He spent three days in the library of the abandoned Shinra mansion in Nibelheim, reading an extensive list of books to which the Garden's library had referred. He was restless and almost unstable those three days, wandering the basement, murmuring to himself.

Waking up.

_"Come see me, my son,"_ the voice urged.

_Soon, Mother._

Just one more page. One more book.

Just one more...

He read them all. And when he was finished, he climbed the mountain to the reactor, the heart of the town's power. Mako, the lifeblood.

_"Are you coming to see me, my son?"_

_Yes, Mother._

He went inside. Kept walking. Didn't stop until he found her.

In her glass prison, body mangled and disfigured, eyes covered in a metal encasement that bore her name, Jenova, the Great Calamity, seemed to smile.

He'd never seen anything so beautiful, so perfect.

_"Welcome home, my son."_

---

Hojo was quite pleased with himself. He had Ansem's theories, taken just as easily as Gast's. He had a specimen, hand-picked by Sephiroth, fresh blood to mix and meld and redesign. Better yet, he had the full cooperation of Sephiroth himself, or at least as much as was required. Once he had the laboratory converted to serve his purposes, his son could do as he pleased. He expected the boy to be too infatuated with finding his mother to be bothered with such details as minor as a prospective underling.

He was, unsurprisingly. What was unexpected...

"Sephiroth," he called, voice quiet, carefully approaching the man. One very rarely died because of caution, and Sephiroth had a great deal of range on that weapon of his.

"What do you want, Hojo." The Shinra general's voice was cold. Former, Hojo corrected himself. He was the military's lead dog no longer. He was a _god_.

"I see you've met your mother."

"No thanks to you."

Caution, caution. "I suppose not. I'm here to thank you for my new specimen. He's not very happy, but that's to be expected. His test results for Mako unification were phenomenal."

Sephiroth didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the alien beyond the glass.

"Sephiroth?"

"... I asked you what you wanted."

Hojo waited a heartbeat, then dove in. "Where did you get that wing?"

There was a long, long silence. Finally Sephiroth turned, a dark smile crossing his lips, the pitch black wing stretching a little, feathers ruffling from the movement. "Mother gave it to me," he answered evenly.

The wheels in Hojo's mind were already spinning. "What does she say?"

The former SOLDIER general stepped past him, walking into the main lab, where several Mako pods were lined up. He peered inside one of them, at the unconscious form of Cloud Strife.

Footsteps behind him told him Hojo had followed. Of course.

"Make me an army," Sephiroth murmured, smiling down at the boy. It was not a reassuring smile. At all. "Make an army of puppets for Mother and I. We will need them."

"For what?" Hojo asked, genuinely curious.

Sephiroth didn't answer. He merely turned and began to walk away.

Within ten paces the darkness had devoured him.

---

A month later, it was obvious that Hojo had failed. Miserably, in fact.

He'd done everything right, of course - the specimen had cultivated the darkness, developed perfectly, but, simply put, too _fast. _The point of the experiments, aside from coaxing free the darkness oh his heart, was to bend his mind slowly, almost gently, until it could be bent into doing anything with far less effort.

Strife's mind had been bent beyond the level of a puppet. He could not be controlled because his mind had snapped entirely.

Useless. The specimen _and _the scientist.

Hojo had been outraged at being replaced, but he was silenced easily enough. Let him toy with Strife, Mother had urged. He'll find his mistake and correct it somehow.

_"After all, consider yourself..."_

But until then, he required another subject.

The scientist was easy enough. Gast was a genius in his own right, and knew the importance of light as well as dark. He'd married an Ancient, after all. Had a daughter. Lost them both because of Hojo's threats and thievery, which was inconvenient, but he needed the man's expertise, not his lineage. He put the man under the protection of the soldiers stationed in Nibelheim and left him there to wait.

A specimen.

Also easy.

---

The Shinra building was quiet that night; most of the personnel were gone, only the nightwatch remaining behind. On any other day, the high-ranking SOLDIER offices would be locked tight and unlit.

H waited in the dark. It wasn't just any other night, and Zack was in his office, discovering Strife's location.

Also inconvenient. Sephiroth had very much wanted the pleasure of informing him.

The door opened. Closed. Sephiroth spoke.

The betrayal in Zack's eyes made his heart soar. he could almost physically grasp the darkness festering in his second-in-command's very essence, so potent had it become. Light and darkness, his smiling soldier.

The perfect specimen.

"Why?" Zack kept repeating, if not audibly, then in his mind.

_Because Mother wishes it._

_"Because it is our fate, my son. To gather power as our own and rise in strength until this place and all others fall."_

_Because your place is at my side when the world witnesses the birth of a god._

It was an honour, and Zack would realize it. When he came to Nibelheim, when the darkness called him, when his heart was bound and balanced, he would see.

Until then, Sephiroth could wait.

-------

That took far too long.

Writing Xehanort scared me. We're shown all of what, three lines of dialogue from him? Talk about zero characterization to go with. Xemnas is no help since the Nobodies are significantly different from their others - consider Roxas versus Sora... then again, he had no memories either. ARGH. Screwed whatever way I turn. Ah well, I tried.

I spent a lot of time trying to study the original Ansem Reports, trying to get a feel for him. He came across as elegant and well-spoken, very polite, and focused on his work. Hopefully I came close enough.

Next chapter: Everyone loves mad scientists. And mad SOLDIERs. And escape artists. Mwaha.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 4: Listen, The Darkness Rings

It was Rem-chan's birthday on Friday, ergo I'm updating for her. Hope you had an awesome birthday, hon! Sorry this is late. 

Chapter title came from Sarah Harmer's "Lodestar". Interesting song.

-------

Hollow Mausoleum

Akai Kitsune

-------

Chapter 4: Listen, The Darkness Rings

-------

The laboratory was quiet. It often was, when the specimens were sleeping. In particular, 'Code Z', as Hojo liked to call him; 'Code C' didn't speak so much as mumble nonsense, now. A habit that would eventually have to be trained out of him, of course.

Zack hated those names, protested every use, almost as much as he protested their treatment as 'specimens'. Sephiroth found it mildly amusing. Even now, Zack could still make him laugh.

Hojo was elsewhere in the building, which was fortunate, and Sephiroth took his time examining the subjects through the glass of their mako pods. Strife's gaze was vacant as always, unresponsive to his mental calls, bobbing silently in the chemicals. Gast hadn't been able to do much for the boy; he'd stopped the Jenova injections and kept him in a milder mako solution, hoping the specimen would recover his own mind over time, but Sephiroth suspected Hojo was continuing his own experiments under Gast's nose. He didn't intervene, since Mother had suggested it, but it annoyed him that it was taking so long. Two puppets were better than one, of course, but the process was far too time-consuming even for his patience, and Mother did not like to be kept waiting.

Gast was at the computer terminal when he passed the mako pods, and, at the sound of his light, deliberate footsteps, turned back to see who was approaching. "... It's you."

Sephiroth nodded, eyes wandering to the screen, scanning the information Gast had been studying. "Any progress?"

The scientist sighed softly, following his gaze, and shrugged his shoulders. "Minimal. The Jenova injections fuse well with his system, and he's used to the mako so there's less risk of poisoning, but it takes time to work past his natural defense. If this had been done when the SOLDIER treatments were still fresh, it might have gone faster, but..."

Sephiroth gave a slight smile at this. Neither Strife nor Zack would surrender their bodies without a fight, that much was obvious.

"He's resistant, you know," Gast continued with a shake of the head, frowning tightly as he studied the screen. "It's not just his body. He'll never obey you as long as you keep his mind intact."

Sephiroth didn't answer at first. He didn't want Zack ruined; a part of him still needed the man alive, thinking, more than just an empty vessel like Strife. Despite gaining the first in a soon-to-be succession of puppets, he'd always felt he needed his... partner.

But perhaps it was time to change those needs.

"What can be done?" he finally replied calmly.

Gast shrugged again, visibly reluctant to speak. "Two options - continue to alter him physically with minimal Jenova enhancements, which will keep his mind as is, or as much as possible, all things considered. Then you can try and convince him to join... whatever it is you're doing... without directly controlling him. By my experience, you'd be boosting his strength and resistance to you, and little else."

"And the alternative?"

The scientist didn't answer right away, closing his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he answered quietly, "Increase his Jenova dosage. Destroy his mind entirely and link his heart directly to her - and you, in the process. He'll be an empty vessel, but he'll do anything you order him to."

Sephiroth turned his head, studying the sleeping figures in the mako pods. He felt, oddly, something within him, something that had protested for so long, finally fall silent.

And Mother was whispering.

"Do it," he said aloud, voice unwavering. He felt a swell of pride in his heart, and knew that Mother was pleased. "His mind is closed to me, so destroy it. Destroy it all."

Then he was gone, not bothering to listen to Gast's reply.

---

He had been on his way back to Radiant Garden to do his own research when Mother's alarmed warning stopped him in his tracks. It was less than a week since his previous visit, the day he'd ordered the increase of Jenova dosage. And now, something was wrong.

By the time he arrived, it was too late. Smoke billowed from the stacks above the reactor, flames licking at the edges of the main experimentation area. He ignored them, striding inside, anger smoldering in his gaze.

The mako pods were empty. Zack's was untouched, and Strife's had been shattered. Mako soaked the floor, the taint of it filling the air, mixing with the smoke and giving it a cold, bitter flavour. He could hear a man coughing, as well as an inconsistent banging, and followed the sound.

Gast was at the computer terminal, but he was clearly not studying much of anything. An axe from one of the emergency fire kits was in his hands, and he was using it to break the entire system to pieces.

Mother whispered. Silently, Sephiroth reached out and grabbed the axe handle just beneath the blade as Gast lifted it for another swing, and, gasping in shock, the man spun around to face him. There was a bloody gash on his forehead and an ugly bruise forming on his left cheek. His eyes were full of desperate fear. "G-general!"

The former SOLDIER studied him critically. "What happened?"

Gast swallowed hard, not releasing the axe, unspoken urgency in his expression. "I... the specimens escaped. And the Heartless."

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed, yanking the tool free and tossing it aside. "You _let_ them escape."

Gast lifted his chin, not answering for a long moment. "The Heartless broke free when the equipment malfunctioned."

"When you destroyed it," Sephiroth correctly flatly. The massive dents in the sparking machinery, and the flawless state of Zack's mako pod, were more telling than any of Gast's lies.

The scientist didn't deny it, his eyes defiant and empty of all remorse. "Hojo kept me hidden away in the northern research lab for years. _Years_! I stayed because he promised not to try and find Ifalna and my child if I cooperated. That was ten years ago! I... I have no way of knowing if he kept that promise, or if they're even alive. I _can't_ keep doing this. Even if they're alive, I can't face them, living with this shame. It's enough, General. Use Hojo, or find another puppet."

Sephiroth was silent for a long moment, studying him. Then, still wordless, he thrust the Masamune through the scientist's heart.

"Thank you for all your hard work, professor," he murmured, twisting the blade, ignoring Gast's choking breath and scrabbling hands. "You have been most useful."

Pulling his sword free and letting the man fall, he turned back towards the laboratory, studying the chaos. The Heartless were all but gone, probably on their way down the mountain towards the unsuspecting town below, and Hojo was nowhere to be found. Not that it mattered. Two men were not an army, but, as Mother told him gently, it would be enough. He need only find them and remind them just who their master was. Not a difficult task, not for him.

Stretching his wing, he let the darkness take him, guiding him. There was no hurry; let his puppets taste freedom for a time, until he tore that hope away.

Longing, given time to fester into despair, was far more sweet than any victory.

---

He tracked them as they traveled, by the marks of their passing as much as Mother's voice. A strongly developed connection such as the one they now shared could not simply be discarded, and they must have realized it. Zack would have, at the very least, even if the boy was still lost in his own mind. Much as he tried to deny it, Jenova's cells were still lodged in their bodies, and as long as they lived, their existence was connected to Sephiroth.

It amused him, as he followed at an almost lazy pace, that Zack believed he was far ahead, free to do as he pleased, when in fact there was only one place they could return to - Midgar, of course. It was disgustingly predictable. And from there, they had moved on to the city where it had all begun: Radiant Garden.

He took great pleasure in summoning the Heartless to the train, to remind Zack of his place, that no matter where he fled, Mother still watched him. The bonds he and Strife shared with her went far deeper than blood.

The one thing he hadn't anticipated was Strife's reaction to the Heartless and his call, though it was satisfying to see that the darkness within him was so easily summoned. He doubted the boy would offer much resistance, and once he was dealt with, Zack would be easy prey. The two of them were bound so intricately that the loss of one would surely bring about the ruin of the other.

_Like brothers,_ a voice within him murmured. _Like you used to be._

He quickly dismissed the notion as Zack's influence; the man was like that, and would have echoed the sentiment in days past. But that time was long gone, and Mother wouldn't approve of any sort of indulgence in such memories. He pondered the wisdom in dealing with Zack first, instead of Strife.

The Ancient's association with his targets was unexpected and troublesome at first, but was soon proven to be, as Mother had assured him, a blessing rather than a curse. The woman helped to form a rift between the two more effectively than his influence and manipulation ever could. All he had to do was wait for her to unwittingly separate them completely - then he was free to act.

As it turned out, he wasn't made to wait long.

---

"That uniform is beneath you, Major."

Sephiroth watched with concealed delight as Zack's shoulders stiffened, and the man spun on his heel, drawing his broadsword, expression ablaze with anger. "Sephiroth!"

The silver-haired SOLDIER took a casual step forward, wing draped lazily against his shoulder. "Did you think running away to the capital would save you, Zack? Did you honestly believe I wouldn't follow, that I wouldn't find you?"

"It bought us some time," Zack growled between clenched teeth, backing away, the same distance Sephiroth had moved to keep the space between them as consistent as possible. "Cloud will find Ansem's lab, and we'll find a way to-"

Sephiroth laughed at that, not letting him finish. "You believe _that_, as well? You've grown simple in my absence. He's enjoying the company of the Ancient with your sacrifice." Seeing Zack's expression, he smiled, not kindly. "You're displeased that I know about her. I'm sure you'll welcome me telling you that she's become my puppet just as surely as you and Code C."

"You're a liar," his former comrade snapped back. Sephiroth could practically taste the fear in the air, and it nourished the words of his reply.

"I am no liar, Zack. I have no reason to be - you yourself let it happen. You gave yourself to the girl, and in return she sent you to me in favour of your friend." His smile was dark and mockingly sympathetic. "Does it pain you, imagining them together? Your best friend-"

"Shut up!"

"-And dearest love," Sephiroth continued, as if he hadn't been cut off. "I hope it does. Your rebellion has caused Mother enough grief."

"I don't give a damn about Jenova, and you know it," Zack retorted, the point of his sword leveled at Sephiroth, keeping him at bay. He shifted slightly to the side, unable to keep still; it was a sign of his nervousness.

"Perhaps not now," Sephiroth replied dismissively. "I've come to offer you a final choice. Your life rides upon your answer, so think carefully: are you content to remain here, and die for the sake of those who have chosen each other before you? Or will you finally submit to the darkness and join my ranks for Mother's sake?" His mako-green eyes glittered with promise, both death and power visible in their depths. "Consider it."

"There's nothing to consider," Zack answered tightly, backing up another step. "You betrayed me once - I won't follow your example. And you can't make me betray them."

"Are you certain of that?" Sephiroth's voice was compelling, a leader's order to his underling.

Zack didn't miss the shadows lurking within the words, the tendrils of control the other man held over the cells in his body. "NO!"

And with Zack's final resistance, Sephiroth knew the conversation was over. "As you wish, Zack," he murmured, effortlessly dodging the man's charge, deflecting a swing of the massive sword with little more than a flick of the wrist, and kicking him away. "Then I will simply summon you back when you have at last become that which you fear the most."

At that, Zack turned to stare at him, eyes wide and wild. "Wh... what?" Sephiroth merely smiled, darkness rising to swallow him up. "What do you mean? Seph!" He lunged forward, sword swinging desperately, recklessly, the blade plowing through the empty shadows. "Come back! Come _back_! _Fight me_!"

Shout and scream as he might, however, all that came were the Heartless, and there was no promise of death in their golden eyes - only hunger.

---

_Are you awake yet? Do you understand?_

_I haven't forgiven you..._

---

Sephiroth was unable to completely hold back his cry of alarm as, quite suddenly, a burst of powerful light thrust him away from the pillar, relinquishing his hold on the yellow flower that had dragged him so far from reality. Glaring at it as he straightened up and regathered his dignity, he was for the first time grateful that he was alone in this place, with no one to witness his surprise.

Considering the flower once more, he kept his distance, hands at his sides. It was no wonder he'd been pushed aside - everything he'd been shown had revolved around Zack, and the vision had ended shortly after the man had been overcome by the Heartless. Not for the first time, Sephiroth cursed Strife for arriving before the Heartless finished him off. The boy's interference had cost him Zack's heart; as soon as it had been torn free of his body, it had immediately been drawn to Strife. The fool probably hadn't even noticed it, but for Sephiroth, it had been difficult to miss. Mother had urged him to bide his time, and had she not done so, Strife would have satisfied his anger with spilled blood.

And now he was trapped, unable to exact his revenge once again.

His gaze shifted to his right, where across the room, the white flower was suspended in the Lifestream, waiting. If yellow was Zack's, doubtless the other two belonged to Strife and the Ancient. The only question remaining was which belonged to whom.

Or perhaps not only; he wasn't certain he even wanted to bother with them. The first had shown him nothing he hadn't already known, and nothing he'd wanted to see. But at the same time, there was little else to do, and there was a chance that he'd gain some clue of how to escape.

He paced for some time, considering his options, and finally approached the one that had first caught his attention, the white lily. He felt no weariness or need of rest, so he assumed the first set of visions hadn't taken much time, despite all he'd been shown. And any history he might have shared with Strife or the girl would be far more brief in comparison. Potentially painless as well, though likely annoying.

Not that memories of Zack had troubled him...

Irritated that a part of him felt the need to justify himself, he took the last step forward and indelicately wrapped his fingers around the white blossom. For a moment, nothing happened, and then, to his surprise, shadows, not light, rose up to cover him, dragging him unwillingly into their embrace.

-------

AN: I feel like these chapters are dragging a bit... I'm really hoping to pick up the pace, and next time will definitely have more action and less, er, exposition... please be patient with me.

Next chapter: "As long as you exist, I can't wake from this nightmare. You are my darkness."

Heh heh heh.

Till next time!


	6. Chapter 5: Symphony of Destruction

You'll have to forgive my liberties in this chapter - I'm disregarding the Sora vs. Sephiroth battle. It was optional and therefore not everyone did it, not to mention it wrecks certain plot points. The Keybearer will have to wait, I'm afraid... 

Also, apologies for how long it took to update this. Damn writing slumps. I hate this chapter, actually, but it had to go up eventually...

Finally, I mangled the dialogue a bit, because the translation was short and boring and didn't really fit the mood I've created for the characters in the story. My bad, but at least I acknowledge that up front.

Title is from Megadeth's _Symphony of Destruction_. Very fitting song.

-------

Hollow Mausoleum

Akai Kitsune

-------

Chapter 5: Symphony of Destruction

-------

Darkness and light mingled with a kaleidoscope of colours for what seemed like an eternity, and when it finally faded, Sephiroth found himself standing - actually, physically standing - in the center of what appeared to be a large coliseum. His eyes narrowed; surely no one would be foolish enough to try to drag him into some kind of crude competition. A single challenger, perhaps.

Only two men would be so bold.

He looked up, and saw one of them approaching him from the other side of the ring.

If he was surprised, he didn't let it show. The boy was different, far different than the confused, angry child last seen in the fallen town of Radiant Garden. He'd found armor for himself, changed his clothes, and given some bizarre decoration to a sword he recognized as Zack's. The mako in his eyes mingled with a dark, angry glint, but that, more than anything, told Sephiroth something had changed; angry as he was, the boy ought to have charged him by now.

Different... no, the boy had _improved_.

He smiled, genuinely pleased for the first time in ages, and pulled the Masamune from his belt as Cloud halted at the other end of ring.

"We meet again at last," the boy called out to him, fist tightening on the hilt of his broadsword. "I've been looking for you."

And suddenly it felt as if it was the same, after all - matured though he may be, his intentions had never changed. "And I, you." _More than you or I know._ He kept the last thought silent, unwilling to give Cloud such an advantage. It was already troublesome that Cloud seemed to know how long it had been since their last meeting; worse still, it seemed that far more time had passed than he assumed.

He didn't ask aloud why Cloud was searching, but the question was clear in his expression, and the younger man tightened his fist around his sword. Zack's sword. "You... you're the darkness here. _My_ darkness. As long as you exist, I can't escape it."

It was difficult not to laugh. Sephiroth lifted his hand, offering it out to his opponent, as if inviting him - whether to fight or submit, neither would say. "If that's true, then I will draw you into that darkness - forever deprived of the light." His smirk broadened, as Cloud's eyes narrowed, the giant broadsword lifted to lie between them. "An unending nightmare, just for you."

His challenge was met with a blaze of energy, and a scant second later Strife was charging across the arena towards him. Sephiroth met his attack with a flurry of movements, blocking each attack, gauging the would-be SOLDIER's strength. The boy looked older, which confused him more than the rest; if only a few weeks had passed at most, why was Strife so drastically changed? There was a strength in his gaze that only came through age, and his skills were far too polished. Something about him wasn't right - or, perhaps, was _too_ right for a boy who'd been no more than sixteen the last time they'd crossed blades.

After a brief exchange, they both drew back, and as they did so, Sephiroth caught sight of a glint of darkness rising into a shape on his opponent's shoulder. Ebony leather melded together into sharp contours and graceful motion, flapping briefly to regain balance.

Cloud's wing. The _Heartless_ wing.

When had the boy learned to summon it that way?!

He didn't have time to consider it; Cloud was rushing forward again, sword flashing. As the fight continued on, neither backing off or giving the other an advantage, he noticed that not only could the boy summon it - no, he was _using_ it, and effectively at that. Whether for an extra boost of speed or added leverage, or sometimes even the slightest amount of flight to escape an attack that might have killed him otherwise... sometime between their previous meeting and now, he had learned an incredible amount of control over it.

Something was wrong. Cloud had had that wing for _months_ after Nibelheim, and had still been but a fledgeling when the Garden fell. Suddenly, what felt like a week later, he had almost full control of its movements?

Again and again they spun, bodies twisting, first on the ground, and then into the air, their single wings and the darkness that fueled them enough to keep them aloft and soaring. Both swords continued to meet endlessly, as if the change in location caused no discomfort or trouble for the two wielding them. Sephiroth had long been used to flight, but never before had he seen Cloud use it so freely, so... _well_. It was as if something had taught him to-

... _Impossible_.

It was then that Sephiroth sensed it. Buried deep within the boy's consciousness, just enough to make its existence almost imperceptible, yet still so close it stirred the darkness that bound them like ripples in a jaded pond.

Zack's heart.

It was right there. His heart was _right there_.

Focusing on the presence of his former second-in-command now rather than the fight - Strife, while improved, was still laughable as an equal - he could sense the faint, yet unmistakable voice guiding Strife's movements, his reactions, his attacks, how to block and how to read the pattern of attack. Not everything; Strife had formed his own style, apparently, a more unrefined show of brutality and heavy-handed attacks, which was far more effective against slower foes with great physical strength, and of course he had somehow learned to use the wing, summoning it at will. Zack shared the habit of broad movements (the size of his sword had always required it) but he had never limited himself to just the weapon. Both strength and weakness in that, one of the SOLDIER's many failings. That and his troublesome loyalty...

His attention was drawn back to the battle as Cloud abruptly began to move faster, his sword a mere flicker of light now rather than the more obvious line of silver. Sephiroth's eyes narrowed, and he shifted his own pace to match it. Cloud was improving. It was both irritating and oddly uplifting to see his creation develop so clearly; it was visible in each exchanged blow. He wanted to kill the boy, yet he felt the old euphoria return, the promise of controlling one of his puppets again. And Mother had wanted him alive, so it wouldn't do to displease her.

Zack's heart, however... that could be problematic. Even in such a weakened state, he could still influence Strife, and that would only cause trouble when the time came to claim his doll. Before too much time passed, Zack would have to be removed.

_How does one remove a single bound heart without damaging the other?_

It bothered him that he was uncertain as to how Zack's heart had attached itself to Cloud in the first place. There were theories, of course, but he disliked the idea of having anything to do with it - as if he had something to truly regret, when nothing else affected him.

Still, he had been the one to bind their hearts together and link them to his own...

Which only brought him to the most troubling question: why had the heart moved to Strife, and not _him_?

_"C'mon, we're friends. Trust me on this."_

The voice startled him, and, coupled with another fierce lunge from Cloud, was enough to make him stagger back a step.

_What-_

_"He's wide open. Move!"_

Sephiroth's eyes shot up to watch Strife, glaring as he moved to attack again.

Strife was smirking, doing exactly what the interrupting voice had suggested. He knew. _He -knew-!_

Zack had been aiding Strife throughout the battle, and _they both knew it_.

That, more than anything, cemented Sephiroth's decision. He wasn't just going to defeat the boy. He was going to _crush_ him. Crush him physically. Destroy him mentally. Slaughter the light and that _traitor's_ heart and finally reclaim his puppet. Defiant willpower was tolerable because it was amusing, but _this_...

One did not smirk at one's master.

With a flare of energy, he met Strife's broadsword with the Masamune, sparks flying as two lengths of tempered steel ground together, both vying for the upper hand.

_"Careful if you fall back. Don't give him an opening. ... And watch your stomach!"_

Unexpectedly, Sephiroth laughed. And then leaned in, a dark smile on his lips as he whispered, "_I can hear you_."

Cloud stiffened, losing his focus for no more than a split second.

It was enough.

In a rush of air he was on the ground, the wrapped sword flung halfway across the ring. Stabbing downwards, Sephiroth delighted in the boy's cry as the tip of the sword ran clear through his shoulder and into the Heartless wing beneath it. "Oh, well played, Cloud," he murmured, mockingly familiar with the use of his first name. He enjoyed the way Strife's eyes darkened and decided to continue doing so. "You did well, for a failure. I'm sure Zack is proud. Are you?"

He twisted the blade, hearing Cloud's sharp intake of breath but not what he wanted to hear.

"You're insane," Cloud snapped, teeth clenching in an attempt to conceal his pain. His free hand lifted to yank Masamune back, but the former general was too fast, lashing out a heavy booted foot and catching his chin, knocking him senseless for a moment or two.

"Insane? Are all men who have true visions labeled as such? Do not lump me together with the likes of Hojo."

"Why... not?" Cloud retorted, working his jaw to regain feeling in it. "You've... earned it. You're exactly like him..."

The boy was goading him, and was steadily working towards his death. Why Zack wasn't stopping him was baffling. It occurred to him then that perhaps Strife _hadn't_ known, and the smirk was only a show of the level of influence Zack had over him. Either way, the boy knew now, and that made it all infinitely more complicated.

Why, _why_ wouldn't Mother speak to him?! He was free of that infernal room, wasn't he?

... Wasn't he?

Snarling inwardly, Sephiroth pulled Masamune free and shifted the blade to Cloud's neck before he could move. "What did she do?" he demanded, fighting to keep his voice level. It wouldn't do to lose control now. "What did that Ancient witch do?"

Cloud blinked, confusion mingling with his anger. "What did she- how the hell should I know?! And why should I tell you?"

Irritation flickered across Sephiroth's face before he hid it. Strife was a pathetic liar, and despite his threat, it seemed he truly didn't know. At the same time, he could hardly allow the boy to escape his wrath so easily.

"Useless," he muttered, loud enough for Strife to hear. "I would very much like to kill you now, but as you must know, Mother has plans for you. If you continue to be uncooperative, however, I will-"

_"You can't,"_ a voice cut in, and suddenly the world was fading into darkness once more. Sephiroth set free and angry growl, sword plunging forward to Cloud's heart - to wound, to kill, to silence, even he didn't know - but before he could even connect, the sword itself dissolved into nothing.

_"You can't,"_ came Zack's voice again, faint beneath Cloud's angry challenge to return and finish the battle. _"You can't kill him here."_

There was a surprising amount of confidence in the man's voice, and Sephiroth, again feeling that indignant irritation, snapped back, "Do not toy with me. You know he's weak - I could kill him here, or anywhere I please."

Zack had the gall to laugh at him. _"Better luck next time, then."_ Quite abruptly, the presence was gone, and the arena with him.

--------  
TBC  
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Zack's fighting techniques are based on Last Order, because it is prettiful and so is he.

Why can Seph hear Zack as well, even though no one heard Kairi but Sora while she was in him? Easy. Their hearts are all connected, of course.

Cloud knowing about Zack: He had to find out sometime, right? And he went to Traverse Town pretty much right after this, and he knew there... I think a part of Cloud had realized it by then; Sephiroth just provided confirmation.

Next chapter: Three guesses what the third flower will be. The first two don't count. Oh, and there's that mystery voice to consider as well, isn't there...


End file.
